Slow Burning Hearts
by legendberry
Summary: Dis/Dwalin from everyone but Dis or Dwalin's point of view - see inside for warnings
1. Part I - Separation

**Slow Burning Hearts - Part I: Separation**

**A/N: Birthday fic for TechnicolourGrey that got too long to be finished in time for her brithday and was subsequently split into 3 parts for ease of writing and reading.**

**Warnings: mention of canon character death, mention of non-canon character death, mentions of what happened to Erebor, mentions of non-graphic child birth, one battle scene with minor violence**

Frerin knew.

As he lay dying amongst a field of orc corpses, staring up at the clouded sky and the circling ravens, he found himself inexplicably thinking of his little sister's wedding day.

It would probably be soon. She had got engaged not long after they lost Erebor. Father had been so desperate to gain some allies, and her husband's father had been desperate to unload his wastrel son on someone. It had seemed the perfect match to everyone but those who mattered.

Frerin had seen Dis' eyes flicker to Thorin's friend as her betrothal was announced. Frerin had seen Thorin's friend lower his head silently.

_Such a good, obedient boy._ Father would have said. But now Father was dead. And soon Frerin would join him.

Dis' husband was nearly sixty years older than her, and he _was_ a wastrel. He drank too much, he swore too much, he did no work at all, and he told far too many raunchy jokes for Dis' poor, sweet ears. None of the dwarves of Erebor liked him. But he was their Princess' betrothed, and so they treated him with the respect his station afforded him, though thankfully not the respect he deserved.

"Frerin! Brother! _Frerin_!" Thorin's voice rumbled across the battlefield like thunder. "Frerin!"

"Thorin..." Frerin mumbled, his chest aching with the effort.

"Frerin!" Suddenly Thorin was staring down at him, terror in every line of his face. "Frerin! Just stay still, a healer will be here soon!"

"No need...big brother...I- I'm going to see Grandfather...soon. Perhaps he's…feeling better. Heh...heh...urgh." Frerin groaned. Breathing was becoming harder and laughing even more so. "Thorin...Thorin...I- I have a request...brother."

"Anything, Frerin." Thorin's eyes were shining, but that couldn't be right – Thorin never cried.

"D-dis. You m-must protect her. A-and her l-lover. She'll need him when she..." Frerin was so tired. Too tired to finish that thought. Thorin would know. Any fool could see who Dis' One was.

"Lover? Do you mean her betrothed? Frerin, tell me! Frerin!"

Huh, apparently any fool couldn't see it. A darkness Frerin had not noticed until this point swooped in suddenly and claimed his brother's grief-stricken face.

Bifur knew.

He was walking beside a stout grey pony that was pulling a creaking wooden cart upon which his demented father lay mumbling in Khuzdul. Bifur's little cousins – Bofur and Bombur – bounced happily on the stoic pony's back. Bombur had managed to obtain some rock cakes from somewhere and was stuffing them into his face as though he had never eaten before.

The two dwarflings covered their mouths and giggled as a newly wed couple strode past entwined in one another's arms. Bifur scowled at them, and their giggles became guffaws.

"You shouldn't laugh at those who are taking a little happiness for themselves." Bifur scolded, glaring at the backs of the retreating couple. "They are lucky to have found their One."

"Their One? What does that mean?" Bofur asked, his dark eyes concentrating still shining with mirth. Bifur sniffed.

"You know full well that the Khazhȃd truly love only their One, stop being irritating." Bifur sniped, although it was pleasant to hear Bofur and Bombur's happiness on such a lost, lonely road as this. Bofur and Bombur were quiet for a few moments. Bombur began chewing his rock cakes again and Bofur put the end of one of his braids into his mouth. Bifur was never one for initiating conversation, so it was a relief when Bofur eventually spoke.

"How do you know who your One is, though?" He asked, full of childish innocence.

Bifur considered the question. It was sure to be challenging, explaining such a complex feeling to a child, but someone would have to tell Bofur and Bombur, and since Bifur was their only remaining kin, it had better be him.

As he contemplated this, a large, strong, black pony came up on his left, its rider nodding down to Bifur as his horse slowed to a trot a few feet away. Bifur had no particular opinion of Dwalin, son of Fundin, though he had been nearby when the young dwarf had met the Princess Dis for the first time and it was a memory he valued highly. He collected his thoughts once more.

"Knowing that a person is your One is a difficult feeling to describe." He began. "Aulë did not create us with the innate knowledge of who our true partner is. We have to go out and find them – and that means experiencing the horrors of courtship, a tedious and frustrating experience for all involved. But once you have actually managed to secure yourself a lover, learning the...intricacies of their person becomes your biggest goal." Bifur paused as he heard Dwalin chuckle from his horse. He glared up at the nobleman and Dwalin held up a hand by way of apology. Bifur turned back towards his enraptured cousins. "It's at this point that most young dwarves make the mistake of believing their first lover must be their One. There are thousands of dwarves in the world, little ones, you will probably not find your One immediately."

"But how do we know, Big Cousin?" Bofur pleaded, Bombur nodding enthusiastically behind him.

"I'm getting to it!" Bifur snapped. He took a deep breath and thought of seeing Princess Dis meet Master Dwalin for the first time.

Bifur hadn't been that much younger than Dis, of an age where royalty and station didn't matter, when miner's sons could play Rock Pellets with princesses. Prince Thorin had come over to see what his little sister was doing and to introduce her to his new friend. Dwalin had only been a couple of decades older than them, but it felt like he was as tall as an elf. Bifur had watched as Dwalin took Princess Dis' hand and kissed her knuckles like they did in Esgaroth, had seen how her eyes lit up in pleasure. He took another deep breath.

"You know that a lover is your One because as soon as you touch their skin, a spark is set off inside of you. It makes your heart start to burn slowly and painfully if you are not near them, and you don't even notice it's happening until one day when it consumes you. At that moment you realise what they are to you and you just never want to ever let them go." Bifur concluded. He dared not look at his cousins or Dwalin, for fear of what he might find, so he just looked at the road ahead.

"How do you know all this, Big Cousin?" Bombur asked quietly. Bifur felt a constriction in his heart.

"Because I only realised that my heart was burning when I realised that dragon fire was burning my One." He said as evenly as he could, still avoiding their faces.

It felt like the silence was smothering them, and Bifur wished he had not scolded his cousins for laughing.  
Then there was the loud clattering of a pony's hooves as Dwalin rode further forward in the column. Bifur stared after him and remembered a young dwarf kissing Princess' knuckles. He remembered a Princess' eyes shining in pleasure. He remembered sparks being lit in two hearts.

Bombur knew.

The noise was deafening. The lights of fires flashing off steel shocked Bombur with their intensity. The smell of blood – orc and dwarf – mingled with the mud that had been mashed into Bombur's beard after he fell over a corpse. Bombur was not a warrior. Bombur was a cook and a miner and a brother and had only just reached his 88th birthday.

At some point, Bifur had joined Bofur and Bombur. Bifur's gravelly voice yelled out insults in Khuzdul as he stabbed his daggers into any orc that came near. Bombur found it somewhat comforting to have his kinsmen so close, especially since Bombur was the only one without a 'proper weapon' - he only had time to grab a ladle and a meat cleaver, it wasn't his fault!

A child's scream cut across the sounds of battle and made Bombur's eyes dart around for its source. Dwarvish women were rare, and dwarvish children more so – no child should be in such a dangerous environment. Bombur spotted where the wailing was coming from and his blood ran cold.

It was the little prince – Fili – half-hidden behind a boulder with both of his parents battling back a crowd of orcs attempting to reach Durin's youngest heir. It was clear that Dis and her husband were not faring well, they were being pushed further and further back towards the boulder that hid their toddler from the onslaught. Then Bombur spotted a squat, snarling orc outflank the Princess and her husband.

Bombur was moving without thinking, his kinsmen following instinctively. Bombur went straight for the little prince, who was trying to get further out from the boulder's protection, and scooped him back into the crevice between the boulder and the cliff-face. He could hear Bofur's mattock smacking into the flanking orc's skull, and was for once thankful for his massive bulk as it hid the scene from the sobbing child.

Bombur tried a smile and hoped that he didn't have too much blood on his face.

"It's okay!" He said in Khuzdul, as cheerfully as he could. "Just stay in here, little one!"

The little prince gave a hiccupping sob but nodded through his tears. Bombur stood and returned to the fight.

Time seemed not to work for the rest of that night – occasionally too fast, so as to make every action blur together, occasionally too slow for Bombur to make any move. He watched as Fili's father chased an orc out into the middle of the battlefield, abandoning his wife to the ravages of battle. He watched as Bofur hacked the arm off an orc that reached too close to Fili, letting the limb fall just inches from the little prince's foot. He watched as an orcish axe smashed into Bifur's skull as his cousin simultaneously speared the offender through the chest.

And then it was over, and Bombur was running to the healer's tent with his injured cousin, and Bofur had to sit down because two of his ribs were cracked, and everything was spinning out of control, and a small glass of something foul-tasting was pressed into his hand, and the world calmed.

It had been hours since Bifur had been taken into the healer's yurt. Hours since Bofur had come and sat beside him, favouring his bandaged ribs. Hours of sitting outside the canvas dome, watching the lines of bodies get longer and longer and longer.

Princess Dis came gliding across the battlefield with her baby son in her arms at the head of four dwarves carrying one body. One blonde body. There were only two blonde dwarves in this encampment. Dis' husband was dead.

Bombur remembered Bifur telling him as a child about the feeling of losing your One. He remembered it sounding like having your lifeblood leaking out your chest for the rest of your existence. Devastating and world-destroying and awful. He tried to imagine the face of a dwarf who had lost their One.

Dis' face did not live up to his imaginings. She appeared not to have cried, and she just looked upon her husband's body with a kind of cold detachment. Fili was still crying and had his face buried in his Mother's luxuriant beard.

"Dis! Fili!" Bombur turned towards the shout, careful not to disturb Bofur who was dozing against his shoulder. Prince Thorin and some of his warriors had arrived – Bombur recognised the brothers Balin and Dwalin, but very few others. Thorin ran to his sister and held onto her shoulders, inspecting her for injuries. Apparently satisfied with his findings, the prince took his nephew and murmured sweet things into his hair.

Dis had turned to one of Thorin's companions – either Dwalin or Balin, Bombur wasn't sure – and spoke quietly to him. The companion's face fitted almost exactly with Bombur's approximation of what the face of a dwarf who had lost their One would look like. Like the face of a dwarf who had almost lost their One.

Then Dis was gesturing towards Bombur – and by extension, Bofur – and then they were all walking towards him. Bombur should have felt worried or nervous, but he was still under the influence of the healer's foul-tasting potion, and could feel nothing except calm acceptance of life and all its mysteries.

Thorin Oakenshield, Heir of Durin, King of Erebor stopped in front of Bombur, fattest dwarf this side of Rivendell. He peered down his poker-straight nose and Bombur really, _really_ should feel nervous at the moment, but he was just incapable of doing so.

"You protected my nephew." Prince Thorin says quietly. Bofur shifts against Bombur's side – Bombur hadn't even realised that he was awake. "Both of you."

"Our cousin helped." Bofur remarked. "He's still in with the healers. They can't get the axe-blade out of his forehead."

"Balin!" Thorin snapped at another of his companions. "See to it that that the axe-blade is safely removed!"

"Oh, I don't know." Bofur said airily, as Balin scurried into the tent. "He did have a very plain face before, maybe an axe-blade would do him some good."

Thorin Oakenshield gave Bombur's brother an odd look. Bofur just stared back. Bombur looked to the back of the group. Princess Dis stood next to Dwalin, not touching, not quite holding hands, but standing a little too close for one so recently widowed, and pointedly not looking at the balding warrior.

Oin knew.

He was in the tavern when the news came. The last remnant of Lady Dis' late husband was making his arrival, and Balin needed help. Oin drained his tankard and dashed towards the current home of the Heirs of Durin.  
Upon arriving at the little stone house, Oin was tackle-hugged by a very worried little prince.

"Mister Oin! Mama's hurt!" Fili cried in Khuzdul. "She won't stop crying!"

"It's alright lad, I'll take care of her." He said, patting the little blonde head. Thorin pulled his nephew away from the healer and spoke quietly and calmly about what had happened.

Dis had been watching Fili play in the long grass by their home when the contractions had started, and Fili had run off to fetch Thorin when his mother started screaming. Thorin had retrieved Balin, and Balin had moved the mother-to-be into the house to deliver the baby. Not long after that, Balin had emerged and asked for someone to call Oin.

Oin listened patiently to the tale and nodded as Thorin finished. He tied back his hair and stepped through the creaking wooden door.

Dis' screams were even louder inside, but Balin greeted Oin as an old friend. Oin was the best midwife in Erebor – in the people of Erebor, they no longer _had_ Erebor. So few dwarvish children were ever born that there was little need for a great number of midwives in their culture. Oin was the very best; he had delivered countless children, including Fili.

Dis was lying on her back on the small cot in the corner of the room, covered in sweat and gasping for air. It was a good position to birth a child in, and Dis was clearly a strong, healthy dwarvish woman. Everything would be fine. Then Balin told him that there were complications. Then Oin had a look for himself. Then he swore (very quietly, so as not to insult the princess).

"Dis! _Dis_!" Dwalin bellowed as he came barrelling through the door. His eyes sought out Dis' face, and he was at her side gripping her hand in an instant.

"Dwalin!" She gasped. "You shouldn't be here it's not- argh!- it's not appropriate!"

Dwalin looked as though someone had tried to pull his beard out. Balin cleared his throat.

"I think that it's entirely appropriate for an expecting widow to be comforted by one of her oldest friends, don't you, Oin?" The ageing dwarf said pleasantly. Oin grunted.

"Keep holding her hand. Deep breaths, Dis. I delivered that little blonde hellion of yours, and I will deliver this little hellion too."

Kili, son of Dis was born four hours later. He was Prince Frerin reborn, all dark hair and long limbs. Dwalin held her hand the whole time, and for some time after.

**A/N: Prepare yourselves for Part II: Youth soon! Review if you feel like it!**


	2. Part II - Youth

**Slow Burning Hearts - Part II: Youth**

**A/N: Second part of TechnicolourGrey's birthday fic...very late, but I am happy with it now, so alls well that ends well. Many thanks to YellowEmerald who beta'd the last chapter, and to An Awesome Friend who beta'd this one :)**

**Warnings: mentions of violence and death from the previous chapter, passing mention of a miscarriage, mentions of m/m relationships (but nothing graphic) and mountains of tooth-rotting fluff!**

Fili and Kili knew.

Kili was sitting in the village square, next to the circular water fountain that splurted funny-smelling water straight up into the air. He liked sitting here with his brother on the crumbly grey cobbles, because there were no trees with nasty roots, but there were shaded awnings in front of most of the shops for when the sun got too hot.

Today's game involved smacking his wooden puzzle blocks against Fili's until one of the toys cracked into its 3 component pieces. Uncle Thorin had given them the toys a few months ago, saying that they were a puzzle that needed lots of quiet concentration to make the three twisty component blocks untangle. Fili and Kili had tried to make the puzzle blocks click apart like Uncle Thorin had when he demonstrated the toy, but they had quickly given up and discovered that the toy came apart eventually if you hit them hard enough.

He looked up at the sound of hiccuping sobs. Several families of Men were returning from a funeral down the road. They were all wearing black, despite the summer heat, and most of the women and children seemed to be crying. He frowned in confusion. When one of Mama and Uncle Thorin's friends had died, all the dwarves that had known him (and some who hadn't) all gathered together and had a big party and told funny stories about his life and everyone laughed and smiled. Apparently Men didn't do it that way. Men were strange.

They looked odd too. Kili had gotten used to them all being bigger than even Mister Dwalin with skinny limbs and faces. But the ones that Mama said were women had no beards – like children! And they hardly ever braided their hair, and _never_ their beards (Kili liked this idea, braids made his head hurt, and grown-ups spent so much time on their beards when they could be having fun!)

Another thing that confused Kili was that all the families had one big human male (usually consoling his weeping spouse or children), one big human female (usually weeping), and a gaggle of children (also crying). Kili recognised that the grown-up human women must have been the mothers of the children, because when he or Fili cried, Mama picked them up and rubbed circles on their backs like the human women were doing. But the grown-up human men that were comforting the mothers and holding the hands of the children too big to be carried confused Kili. Kili turned to Fili.

"Fili, why do all the human families have a man with them?" He asked in Khuzdul, being too little to know any of the Common Tongue.

Fili looked at the families his brother was examining. It was true that all the human families had a grown-up man with them, and he was fairly sure that they were called Daddies. He frowned, remembering a hot, dark night and the smell of orc blood. He shivered, even though he was getting a little too warm in the blazing sun.

"Those are Daddies, Kili." he said knowledgeably. Fili, having yet again educated his baby brother on the ways of the world, returned to hitting his rapidly loosening puzzle block against the edge of the fountain (Kili's had already broken into three).

"What are Daddies? Do we have one?" Kili asked, staring wide eyed at his brother's extensive knowledge of the world. Of course his big brother would know about the strange ways of Men, Fili was super duper smart!

"We don't have a Daddy because he died." Fili told his brother, thinking about crouching behind a boulder and watching a blonde headed dwarf running away into the dark night with a sword in each hand. His toy clicked apart in his hands and he looked at the three little pieces lying on the cobbles in front of him. Fili didn't think that Kili needed to know that their Daddy had run away like a coward.

"But what are they for?" Kili asked. Kili was a big boy of nearly 14 now, so knew that Death meant that someone's eyes closed and they stopped moving. Fili had got really sad when he said that their Daddy had died, and Kili wondered if it was because Fili wished that they still had one. Kili wished he knew what their Daddy had done to make Fili miss him so much.

Fili frowned. It had been a long time since he had a Daddy – he didn't really remember what Daddies _did_. He remembered that their Daddy had smelt a lot like beer, and messed up Fili's hair, and squeezed too tight when he hugged.

"Hmmm," Fili thought about it. "Let's go ask Mister Balin. He knows lots of things!" He eventually suggested.

Kili grinned. He liked Mister Balin, and now he would find out what 'Daddies' were. He and Fili collected their blocks and headed off towards the Dwarvish part of the town, ignoring the suspicious glances they got from the humans as they walked past. Mama said that the humans were just getting used to having the dwarves of Erebor living in their village because before they came it had just been humans in the area. She said that it would pass, and they wouldn't get glared at or shouted at or spat at anymore. Kili wasn't sure he believed her yet.

The brothers stopped to hide their blocks under the log pile outside their little grey house, so that if any dragons came along, their toys would be safe. Then they went to see Mister Balin. He was explaining something about one of his old yellow scrolls to one of his apprentices, but the brothers didn't really care because Mister Balin's scrolls were full of big words and complicated maps and they were _really boring_. Balin smiled when he saw the two of them and sent the apprentice on his way with a wave of a wrinkled hand.

"And what can I help you two with today?" He asked, kneeling down to Fili and Kili's level.

"We need to know what Daddies are for." Kili replied. Balin's face got a strange wooden quality for a moment, and Kili was worried he had made Balin sad – did Balin have a Daddy that died too? Then Balin gave the two of them a pitying smile – Kili recognised pity, and he didn't like it! He would have demanded that Balin stop pitying him, but Uncle Thorin always said that they had to respect their elders, so he didn't say anything.

"Daddies? Well, they aren't really something you need to worry about. You don't need a Daddy, you have your Ma!"

Fili shook his head. "We _used_ to have a Daddy, but he died! I just don't remember what he was _for_!"

Balin's face looked strange again, like he was trying to swallow a stone that was too big for his mouth. Then the pity returned.

"Well," Balin said slowly, picking his words carefully before voicing them. "Daddies are _supposed_ to take care of their children, and their children's Mamas. They make money and help gather firewood and make Mamas smile. They're also usually the ones that teach little dwarflings to be great warriors!" Balin smiled again. "Now, off with you! I have to teach a failing apprentice about ox-bow lakes, and _you two _need to go home before your Ma worries herself sick!"

Fili and Kili scrambled out of Balin's house and the two of them instinctively went to the low drystone wall to the East of the village – their own secret spot to watch the sunset. When the two of them were settled on the lowest part of the crumbling wall, Kili and Fili thought long and hard about what Balin had said.

"If Daddies make Mamas smile..."Kili murmured.

"...And help collect fire wood..." Fili said, continuing his brother's thought.

"...And teach children how to fight..." Kili was glaring into the distance, screwing up his face because he was staring too close to the setting sun.

"...Then Mister Dwalin must be our Daddy now!" Fili finished, grinning at his and his brother's genius. Mister Dwalin was always making Mama smile, and he helped carry the logs that were too big for Mama to lift, and he gave Fili and Kili wooden swords to practice fighting with. So he must be Fili and Kili's next Daddy! It was only logical.

Gloin knew.

Gloin leaned back on the bench, draping his arm around his wife's shoulders. His pregnant wife – they had just announced that she was due in a few months having kept it a secret for several months just in case there were complications. He was basking in the warmth of a fine fire, a (mostly) full belly and the fine company of his King and Princess. The main room was small, with a hearth set in one wall, a table pushed up against the opposite wall, and a sink and stove on the final wall opposite the door.

"Oh Dis, that meal was simply wonderful! You have my greatest thanks!" Gloin's wife gushed, her eyes shining with gratitude at the Princess currently washing their plates. It had been tradition in Erebor for expecting parents to be taken to the King's table, and Thorin had continued that tradition even though his table was currently a small, scratched wooden affair.

"Thank _you_ – it will be a pleasure to have more children around. Hopefully Fili and Kili will learn to act more responsibly with a smaller child to play with!" Dis replied wistfully. Thorin chuckled around his pipe.

"You said that about Fili before Kili was born and it didn't sound plausible then either, sister!" The King smirked. Dis swatted his arm with her soapy hand.

Gloin looked into the adjoining bedroom through the door by the hearth, to the sleeping dwarflings curled up together in the pile of blankets. Soon he would have one of those. Soon he would be a father. Pride swelled in his chest. It had taken years and years for Gloin and his wife to concieve. They had gone through several false positives, and one devastating miscarriage that had left the two of them questioning whether they should continue in their attempts, or whether they should just content themselves in their peaceful marriage.

"Can you see yourself having more children, Dis?" Gloin's wife asked innocently. Gloin, Thorin and Dis all tensed. Sensing her mistake, Gloin's wife looked up at him with wide, frantic eyes. Gloin felt guilty for not explaining Dis' situation in more detail to his beloved wife. She did not know that this question had been left unarticulated since Dis' widowing nearly 15 years ago.

"...If my King should ask me to take a lover for the continuation of our line, then of course I will do so." Dis said quietly. Thorin flinched as if struck.

"Dis, _sister_. You have given me two wonderful nephews already, I can ask you for no more." He stood and turned her so the two of them were standing directly in front of one another, his hands on her cheeks, her hands dripping water onto the floor. "If you should choose to take a lover, it should be for your own sake. Not for the line of Durin's."

"Thorin." she mumbled. "I..." She moved as if to touch his face, then remembered that her hands were covered in suds and lowered them again. "Thank you. But I will not take a lover before the boys are both grown." She said this with the kind of finality that only a fool would question.

Thorin nodded, but did not remove his hands. Gloin thought that now would be an appropriate time for he and his wife to take their leave of the King of Erebor's table. He had no doubt that Dis and Thorin had much to avoid discussing – such was the way of the line of Durin.

Ori knew.

Ori was sitting at the table in the main room of his house, when the sound of tiny fists pounding on the door started. He didn't look up as he assumed Dori would go to answer the insistent knocking. Ori was trying to learn how to cable stitch, but it was not going well. He just kept dropping stitch after stitch.

"Ooooooriiiiii!" Came a childish wail. Ori looked at the door and frowned. The noise at the door was still going, and Dori called through from the wash room where he was doing laundry asking if Ori could _please_ answer it.

Ori wasn't usually allowed to answer the door. Or go outside without one of his brothers. Or talk to strangers. Or Men. Or some other dwarves that Dori called 'a bad sort' and Nori called 'friends'. So he was naturally a little apprehensive as he undid the bolt and chain on the wooden door.

"Hello?" Ori asked timidly.

"Ori!" He looked down to see the little princes Kili and Fili beaming up at him. "We need your help!" They demanded in Khuzdul – Ori often forgot that they were still too little to know any of the common tongue. And with that, Ori was dragged away by two tiny dwarflings – he barely had time to call out to Dori that he was going out.

"Wh-where are we going?" Ori asked the brothers; who, oddly enough, were covered in mud. Ori had a bad feeling about this.

"To the grouchy old lady's house," Kili answered, not slowing down at all.

"The one with the pretty flowers in her garden," Fili continued.

"Uh, why?" Ori asked, afraid of the reply.

"We need you to speak the common tongue to her."

"Because you're smart!"

Ori blushed a little. The princes certainly knew how to talk a dwarf into trouble. Because it was _definitely trouble_.

Ori had no time to ponder exactly what kind of trouble, because he was suddenly released in front of a green-painted door. Kili and Fili immediately began smacking their tiny fists on the glazed wood, smearing it with mud.

The door swung open to reveal a tall, dark haired human woman glaring down at them. Ori felt himself clam up – he had never spoken to a human before. He was also suddenly very acutely aware that he was the size of a small human 10 year old, and the brothers by his side barely the size of human 6 year olds. And covered in mud. And knocking on the door of the woman with the prettiest flowers in town. Oh dear.

"What do you want now, midgets?" She snapped. Ori gulped. The princes had been to this woman's house recently, were covered in mud, and had specifically mentioned the pretty flowers in her garden – this did not bode well. He wasn't sure what 'midgets' meant, but he was assuming that it was an insult – like the naughty words that Nori sometimes called Dori when he was angry.

"Tell her we want some flowers!" Kili demanded in Khuzdul.

"Um, hello ma'am," Ori said, slowly because his Common Tongue wasn't very good. "My friends want me to ask you for some of your flowers...uh, please."

"No!" She growled and made to close the door, but Kili and Fili stopped her by leaning against the closing door with all of their combined weight.

"We need these flowers, Ori! Make her give us some!" Fili insisted.

"She can have some of our hair clasps if she wants!" Kili added.

"No!" Ori cried, scandalised. The others jerked at his tone (the woman included). "No, you can't give those away, they're important, okay?" Ori said patiently.

"Just get her to give us some, _please_?" Fili asked, his feet scrabbling for purchase on the dry ground as the woman struggled to push the door closed with two dwarflings trying to force it open.

"Um, ma'am, they really really want some of your flowers. Please." Ori tried again. The woman glared again.

"What for? They've already destroyed my garden once, but I chased them off and they didn't get nothing! Good for nothing hooligans!" She griped. Ori still didn't understand everything she was saying, but he got the impression she didn't want to give the boys any flowers.

"Uh, why do you two want the flowers?" Ori asked the princes, switching to Khuzdul again. The two of them sighed loudly.

"We need to give them to Mama from Mister Dwalin." Fili said.

"Because Mister Dwalin is our new Daddy, but he and Mama are too silly to know it!" Kili added.

"And we saw a human Daddy giving a human Mama flowers yesterday-"

"And then _she_ gave him a big smooshy kiss, so it must have worked!"

Ori thought about it. When Dori was being courted by Nar, he was always getting flowers. True he usually burned them, or gave them to Nori to...do something naughty with. So the brothers' plan sounded like a good idea. He relayed it to the human lady, and she made a sort of choked squeaking noise and covered her mouth with both hands.

"Hol-hold on." She said in a strained voice, her cheeks turning a pleasant pink colour. (Ori wished he had wool in that colour). "Mother!" She called over her shoulder into the house.

An old, wizened lady hobbled up behind her daughter, glaring at the mud-covered princes. The tall lady asked Ori to repeat the brothers' plan, and the old lady gave a loud cackling laugh, wheezing and leaning over in her mirth. Ori wasn't sure what was going on exactly, but then the two ladies ushered the three dwarflings into their beautiful emerald green garden.

As the two ladies helped Fili and Kili pick out some appropriate flowers, Ori looked around at the flowers and plants, marvelling at all the colours and sizes – like living gemstones. Ori wished that Dori and Nori would let him out of the house more often, the world seemed so wonderful and promising. He was sad when Kili and Fili bid him goodbye with their fistfuls of flowers, but he still pulled one of the woollen threads out of his jumper and tied the bunches together so that they were easier for little dwarvish hands to carry. Then he went home where Dori scolded him for leaving the house so suddenly and without a chaperone.

(_Upon reflection in later life, Ori was not at all surprised that Fili and Kili's flower plan that day didn't work, since they had presented their mother with the flowers covered in mud, tied with a piece of Ori's jumper and insisting they were from Mister Dwalin._)

Bofur knew.

Bofur loved children. It was one of the main reasons he became a toymaker. Dwarvish children or the children of Men, it made no difference to him. He loved seeing the joy on their faces as they received his newest creations, and their laughter as they ran around the square in front of his shop.

He was taking a few minutes' break from his craft to sit in the sun one day when he noticed them: three young dwarves – two he recognised as the Sons of Dis, and another who looked too much like his drinking buddy Nori to be anyone other than a younger brother. They were sitting on the ground, huddled around something and having a hushed argument in Khuzdul. Bofur's curiosity was peaked. Tapping the ash from his pipe, he straightened from his position leaning against the wall and wandered slowly over to them.

"What you doing, boys?" He asked in the Ancient Dwarvish language used in his home these days due to Bifur's injury. The dwarflings stopped their argument instantly and regarded him with suspicion (and worry in the case of Nori's brother).

"Nothing." Said one of the princes – Kili, Bofur thought his name was.

"Hmm? It don't look like nothing." Bofur said, leaning over their little huddle to spot a much scribbled upon piece of parchment between them.

"It's not anything bad, Mister." Nori's brother assured him. "We're just writing a letter!"

"Ori!" The little blonde prince – Fili, Bofur was sure that one was called Fili – hissed and gave the boy now identified as Ori a shove.

"A letter, huh? Hmm, ain't you three a little young to know your runes?" Bofur asked. Perhaps princes learned their runes earlier than miners' sons – he had no idea! But judging by the scowls of the princes, and the cringe of the older child, Bofur doubted it.

"That's why we dragged Ori out! We thought that since he was older than us, and 'cause he's really smart, he could write it for us!" Kili complained.

"It's not my fault!" Ori wailed. "Runes are tricky, and I don't know the ones for the words you want to use!"

The exchange quickly descended into an argument, which Bofur watched with the polite interest of an amused adult – right up until the boys started pulling fistfuls of one another's hair.

"Okay, okay, that's enough of that!" He said firmly, removing Ori's hands from the brothers' hair, Fili's hands from Ori's hair, and stopping Kili's tiny fingers scratching at Ori's newly-grown stubble. "How about you three tell me what you want to write, and I can write it for you?" He suggested, sitting down in the dust next to them.

The boys considered for a moment, glancing at one another and at his smiling face.

"_Only_ if you make a sollen promise not to tell anyone!" Fili declared eventually, making what Bofur thought to be a valiant effort to use the word 'solemn'. The other two nodded seriously. Bofur sat up as straight as he could, took off his hat, and placed one hand over his heart.

"I, Bofur, son of Bavor, toymaker extraordinaire, do sollenly swear not to tell a soul of what I am about to write, so long as I live!"

His promise clearly impressed the children, so they slid him a new piece of parchment and a stick of charcoal, and explained their plan. Fili and Kili were trying to get a warrior named 'Mister Dwalin' to be their new Daddy because he made their Mama smile. To this end, they had been studying the ways in which humans showed love to one another. A few days ago they had seen a particularly shy man slide a letter beneath a woman's door, and had seen the ensuing smile on the woman's face. So they had 'liberated' some paper and charcoal from Mister Balin, and collected Ori to act as their scribe.

"So we're writing a love letter, are we?" Bofur asked, grinning.

"Yes, that's right." Ori nodded.

"Mama and Mister Dwalin _already_ love each other, they're just too silly to _know it_ yet!" Kili declared.

"Okay, so how are we starting this?" Bofur asked, spinning the charcoal between his fingers.

"To Mama," Kili dictated.

"To _Lady Dis_," Ori corrected.

"My dearest Dis," Bofur said aloud as he wrote the words. The boys nodded.

"I really like you and think that I should come and be Fili and Kili's new Daddy!" Kili continued.

"You can't say that!" Fili argued. "It has to be about Mama and Mister Dwalin, not us!"

"How about we say something about how lovely he thinks her beard is?" Bofur suggested, before the argument escalated. Ori looked thoughtful.

"None of the warriors who courted Dori ever told him he had a nice beard..." He murmured.

"Yeah, but he isn't still courting any of them, is he?" Kili reasoned. "We want Mister Dwalin to stay with Mama forever because then we can have a Daddy!"

"_And_ because he makes Mama happy!" Fili added, glaring at his brother.

"Yeah, that too." Kili said sheepishly.

"Okay, how about this," Bofur began. "My dearest Dis, your beard is thicker than a bramble bush, shinier and softer than gold, and its braids are more intricate than clouds at sunrise-"

"Clouds at sunrise?" Kili said dubiously. "Is that really what people write in letters?"

"Sometimes. Is there something better you can think of?" Bofur asked. Kili thought about it for a moment.

"More in-inna-innacate than...than...than tattoos?" He suggested eventually.

"Tattoos! Brilliant!" Bofur cried, carefully scrubbing out the previous comparison and entering the new rendition. "So, her beard is nice, yaddah, yaddah, yaddah, what about something saying how much he likes her cooking? Is your Mother a good cook?"

"Uh huh!" Fili nodded. "She's the best!"

"So if we say that when she makes..."

"Pies!"

"-pies, it makes him feel..."

"All warm and tingly like when we visit the caves?"

"-like he has found a home in her heart!"

"Diamond heart!" Ori piped up. "That's what Nori calls people who stay the night in his room with him!"

Bofur stifled a giggle. Nori would be delighted to know that his little brother knew when he had bedded someone.

"Ohhh-kay!" Bofur said, adding a few more lines of romantic prose to give it what he assumed was the 'love letter feel'.

"Finish it 'love, Dwalin'" Fili commanded. Bofur did so and folded the paper into the shape of an envelope. He handed the letter to the little dark-haired prince and they all stood. The boys shuffled awkwardly then looked at one another as though having some sort of mental communication.

Quite suddenly they all bowed at the waist.

"Thank you for helping us, Mister Bofur!" They cried. Bofur scratched the back of his hat, smiling.

"My pleasure, boys."

As he watched them running joyfully towards their Mother's home, Bofur was pleased that he got to share in their matchmaking efforts.

And he never broke his promise.

Thorin knew.

Thorin Oakenshield shifted the basket of apples on his hip and told himself once again that he was travelling so far across the town for the sake of his beloved sister and nephews. A human woman had come into the forge the other day asking if she could get her deceased husband's sword repaired so that her son could use it. She had not had much money, but Thorin did not have the heart to refuse her – he knew the importance of inheritance more than most. However, the woman had been so grateful for his work that she had gifted him a basket of sweet red apples, that Thorin was simply incapable of eating all by himself.

As he pushed open the old, rotting door (he really needed to repair that) he heard two sharp gasps. He turned towards the hearth and saw his two little nephews (not so little anymore, he needed to spend more time with them) sitting on the rug in front of the fireplace. They were each hiding something behind their backs in what they probably thought was a subtle manner. He frowned and put the basket on the kitchen table.

"What are you two up to?" Thorin asked. The boys looked at each other.

"Nothing," Kili said, unconvincingly. Those two were _always_ up to something. Usually something that would cause Thorin or Dis a headache. Thorin could feel the twitch in his temple starting already.

"Then show me what you have behind your backs," He demanded quietly, taking a step towards the nervously twitching boys.

"Uhm...it's just...ash. We were playing with the ash." Fili lied – it was impressive, really, that he had come up with it so quickly. Thorin softened his features, smiling and holding out his arms.

"Then the two of you need to bathe. Come, I'll help you scrub between your toes. Perhaps when your mother comes home she can braid your hair – nice and tight." Thorin said sweetly, keeping the facsimile of a smile on his face. His nephews' eyes widened, and Kili gave a quiet whimper. Thorin picked up the coarse dish scrubber to emphasise his point.

"It's braiding practice! Just braiding practice!" Fili babbled, bringing his hands around to the front, dragging Kili's hands with him – they were each holding three pieces of coloured wool, and appeared to have been braiding them together. Thorin raised an eyebrow, and dumped the scrubber back into the stone sink. He walked over and knelt down to get a closer look at their weave of wool. He looked up at their worried faces emotionlessly.

"Braiding practice." he said slowly. His nephews nodded. He looked back at the wool. "Why are you braiding the two together?"

"We're practising...two-person braiding?" Kili suggested. Thorin's younger nephew was not nearly as skilled at lying as his brother.

"This looks like Ori's wool. Did you get it from him?" Thorin asked. The boys looked relieved, and nodded enthusiastically. "And was Dori in when you went to visit?" More nods. "And was he with his new lover? The watchmaker's lad?" The nods became more hesitant. "And were they braiding their beards together?"

Fili and Kili realised their uncle knew that they were practising courtship braiding with one another. It was an old dwarvish tradition that when a courting got serious, the two lovers would symbolically braid their beards together to show their affection. The only question was why his _underage nephews_ were practising them.

"So, do you want to tell me what's going on, or shall I fetch your Mother?" Thorin asked. When they didn't answer, a horrible thought occurred to him, and a chill jolted down his spine. "Did someone ask you to braid your hair into theirs?" If someone braided their beard into Fili and Kili's hair, it was unlikely they would understand the implications, and it could lead to someone taking advantage of Dis' sweet, innocent sons.

"No!" Kili said, scrunching up his nose. The fear and rage pooling in Thorin's belly unfurled and drifted away like steam. "It's for Mama and Mister Dwalin!"

"Kili!" Fili hissed, elbowing his brother in the ribs.

"It's okay, we can trust Uncle Thorin, he wants Mama to be happy too!" Kili insisted. He turned to Thorin. "You do want Mama to be happy, don't you?"

_I will not take a lover before the boys are both grown._ Thorin felt like laughing – apparently Fili and Kili did not agree with their mother's plan. A small smile appeared unbidden on Thorin's face.

Dis and Dwalin deserved the happiness their coupling would bring. Dwalin already spent enough time here, and Dis' sons _clearly_ had no issues with her moving on from their father's death.

"If that's the case, then you may want to tie it a little tighter, and use the male-to-female braid, rather than the male-to-male braid that Dori and his lover were using." Thorin said, sitting cross-legged on the rug, and gently taking their wool to show them the correct knots. "We can fill their bellies with some of Balin's 'special tea' after supper and braid their hair while they sleep."

Thorin felt a little guilty for siding with the children, but it soon disappeared at the look of intense concentration on his nephew's faces. Dis and Dwalin didn't really stand much of a chance against the boys anyway.

_I will not take a lover before the boys are both grown._

_You do want Mama to be happy, don't you?_

_If you should choose to take a lover, it should be for your own sake._

All Thorin wanted was happiness and safety for his family. It was all he had ever wanted, because they deserved it – Dis especially.

**A/N: Coming up, Part III: Reclamation. The next chapter will return you to your regular viewing of angst. Review if you feel like it!**


	3. Part III - Reclamation

**A/N: So...it's finally finished. Like a month and a half after it was started. Many, many, many thanks to YellowEmerald and An Awesome Friend who beta-read this for me, and thanks to TechnicolourGrey for getting me hooked on Dislin! Grab your tissues and read away!**

**Warnings: character death, angst, unrequited love, angst, sadness, angst**

Part III – Reclamation

Nori knew.

Nori knew lots of things – how to slip someone's purse from their belt without the person noticing, how to sell precious jewellery in just the right area so that it would eventually got back to its original owner, how to make Men believe him to be a human female (even with the beard!) - but the night he learned of the quest for Erebor was a special night indeed. It was also the night he saw the most honest declaration of devotion he would ever encounter.

It was not a particularly memorable night by the standards of most beings – it had the usual darkness and stars, nothing extraordinary. It was a little cold, but not freezing – some people were such cowards when it came to wind-chill. Nori had been out in far worse than this while wearing far less!

Anyway, anyway, anyway.

Nori had been making some money (_hustling_) in a bar called the 'Red Goat' and things had gone a little downhill (_he got caught cheating_), so he had to make a swift exit. Luckily the owner was a good friend of his, so he was able to slip under a table, then climb up the rafters and crawl out onto the thatched roof.

Nori liked roofs – there was something poetically ironic about a 'Scum of Middle-Earth Thief' being so far above the heads of all the 'Good Respectable Citizens'. From atop a roof, Nori was the one in control. From atop a roof, Nori was the one who saw the secrets people tried to hide in the dark. From atop a roof, Nori was king of his own little rooftop kingdom.

(_Nori was only 29 when Thror's kingdom was taken. He was barely tall enough to reach the end of his father's beard, and Dori had to carry him out of the Mountain. He had a vague notion that he should miss Erebor, but mainly Nori was an opportunist – he lived in the here and now, so he may as well make the best of his current situation! ...And earn a little money while he was at it!_)

Anyway, anyway, anyway.

So Nori was jumping lightly from roof to roof, footfalls almost silent against the straw, and his distinctive hair hiding in the shadows. (_Nori had distinctive hair because, as Dori said: "Why would a criminal have such a recognisable braiding style?" - Nori's hair was a symbol of his success in his profession, it was his badge of honour_). Nori took a flying leap onto yet another roof, to put more distance between himself and the humans he had been betting against (_hustling_) when he noticed the two dwarfs standing in an alleyway.

It was a little known fact (_not_) that Nori was actually quite a nosy little thief. Avoiding situations could lose him money. So when he saw the Princess of Erebor and the Bodyguard of the King of Erebor (self-proclaimed) facing one another in an alleyway he stopped his (_completely-manly-not-cowardly-in-any-way_) retreat to listen in on their conversation.

Nori was also easily distracted, so instead of paying attention to their conversation right away, he began to wonder how he got so close to Dori and Ori's house (_home_) without noticing. Maybe it was like Nori was a sort of homing pigeon – whenever the winds blew against him he spread his wings and rode the currents back to his brothers... that was how homing pigeons worked, wasn't it? Who cared, it was a pretty thought anyway!

Nori turned his (_shiny, silver, expensive_) eyes back down to the couple in the alleyway. He recognised the alleyway as being the one next to the Princess' home. The two were standing a good, respectable distance away from one another (the kind of distance Nori would be happy to have Ori at with...well anyone, no one was safe these days) and they seemed to be having a fairly serious conversation.

"This is madness, Dwalin!" Dis hissed, clenching her fists. "If you could only hear yourself!"

"Dis, I understand your frustration," Dwalin murmured. (Nori didn't think he did understand her, but that was just his opinion.) "But this is not something you can talk your brother out of – nor your sons for that matter! Their stubbornness is rivalled only by your own, and it's three of them against one of you. It's easier to just let them do as they please."

"Do as they please!" Dis barked out a cynical laugh. "If I had let the _do as they pleased_, all three of them would have died years ago! They cannot possibly mean to travel so far with so few dwarves – eight, Dwalin! _Eight dwarves against a dragon!_"

"Dori and Ori have agreed to come too..." Dwalin muttered, scratching the back of his neck and looking pleadingly upwards. (For a moment, Nori feared he had been spotted, but then he realised that looking up was a sign of nervousness in Respectable Citizens). "And there was talk of Oin and Gloin joining us..."

"Oh, well that's just fine!" Dis was gesturing wildly now, her breath puffing out small mist clouds as she spat out her words. "More old men, and inexperienced babes! Tell me, can you _actually promise_ me that Thorin and my boys will come home, hmm?"

"Dis..." Dwalin groaned.

"No! No, I will not be left behind _again_, Dwalin!" She cried, finally letting the tears she had been holding back spill from her eyes. "You can't promise that they will return – any of them! And I- I don't want them to- I don't want _you_ to-"

"Dis," Dwalin said softly, moving forwards to take her hands in his as she dissolved into sobs. (If Nori were a Respectable Citizen he would feel awkward watching such an intimate moment, but as it was he just leaned a little further over the edge of the rooftop to see Dwalin properly as he knelt on the ground in front of his Princess). "Dis, I swear to you, I give you _my word_, that I will not allow your sons, or your brother to come to any harm whilst they are on this quest. They will be under my protection _always_, they will be under my watchful eyes _always_, and I swear this oath to you, on the understanding that I will uphold it _always_."

Dis' tears did not stop, but she glanced down at the kneeling warrior with glazed eyes. She took one last shuddering breath and straightened to her full height.

"Thank you, Dwalin." She said with only a slight tremor to her voice. "I- I understand what it must mean for a warrior of your calibre to promise such a... complete protection to a paranoid mother and sister." Dwalin shook his head fondly as he stood. (Nori noticed that they were still holding hands.)

"It will not be a burden, my Lady." He said kindly. "I would have protected them regardless of whether I had made that oath to you or not."

"I appreciate it." She gave him a watery smile. "And at least those brave miners' sons are going too – I will never forget the actions of those dwarves the night the orcs attacked."

Nori felt something constrict in his chest. _Miners' sons_ – the ones that owned the toy store and helped out at the soup kitchen. Nori liked those dwarves, Bifur and Bofur were superb drinking buddies, who were fine with turning a blind eye to his morally grey schemes and who both knew many excellent drinking songs.

...And then there was the other one. The rotund one who helped at the soup kitchen on Saturdays and Wednesdays. The one with the red hair and the booming laugh. The one who was absolutely not the reason Nori scheduled any business he might do in the soup kitchen for Wednesdays or Saturdays – they were just the most convenient days to do it. The little round chef was none of Nori's concern.

That being said, perhaps Nori should go and speak with his brothers about this quest of Thorin's. Dori and Ori had very little real-world experience of the dangers of travelling or of fighting – and Ori was still so very young. They definitely needed Nori to be there. And if he kept an extra eye on Bifur and Bofur, well, that was just because he enjoyed their company whilst drinking.

It had nothing to do with the oath he had just seen Dwalin (_good, kind, Respectable Citizen_) make to his Princess (_Sweetheart, Beloved, One_). Nothing to do with how the little round chef would feel if he lost his only kin. Absolutely nothing to do with how Nori would feel if he couldn't admire a loop of braided red beard whilst being served watery leek soup on Wednesdays and Saturdays. Nothing to do with that at all.

Nori stood up and jumped across a few more rooftops to the alleyway next to his brothers' house (_home_) and slipped in through a window. Perhaps it would be nice to think that the chef would enjoy Nori's company on the quest, perhaps it would be nice to think that this would allow the two of them to become closer, perhaps it would be nice to think that when they go to Erebor Nori could get down on his knees and say such sweet words into a soft belly while the face attached to it blushed. Perhaps it would be nice to think these things, but they could never really come to pass.

…Then again, Nori was an opportunist.

Bilbo knew.

The campfire was one of the nice surprises Bilbo found on his journey out of the Shire. Bilbo had always thought that the best type of fire was one that crackled merrily in his little hearth in Bag End. However, he had found that nothing was quite so pleasant as a campfire after a day traveling in the rain.  
Bilbo liked the little noises the campfires made, he liked the warmth that warmed his icy toes and he even liked building them. Bofur had given him a detailed description of how to make a decent campfire the first time he had tried it.

"First you take some little kindling twigs and some of those big chunky blocks, and put them in a little pile. Then you take the long thin ones and put them into a pyramid shape, propped with some heavy stones. Then you just light the kindling, see?"

He also liked sitting around the campfire because it was one of the few chances he got to speak to his traveling companions about their lives. It was there he learned about Gloin's wife and son - "The most beautiful woman you've ever seen, Burglar! And thank Durin Gimli got his mother's looks!" - there he learned about Ori's love of flowers - "Dwarves aren't really supposed to like them, Mister Baggins, but I find them so fascinating! I think I should like to write a book about them one day!" - and it was there he learned about Dwarvish Soulmates.

He was helping Bombur cook stew one evening when the cold he had been suffering from for a few days made a nuisance of itself. He turned his face away from the pot to avoid sneezing in the company's food. Bilbo sniffled and reached into the inside pocket of his waistcoat for his makeshift handkerchief. Upon not finding it, he frowned and plunged his hand in a little deeper.

Bilbo began to panic a little when he still couldn't find the strip of cloth. It was the first gift that any of the company had given him. Hobbits valued gifts extremely highly and did not get rid of them. If there was no need for a gift, it would be put into the Mathom House, but Bilbo didn't do that often either – he preferred to keep his gifts. Hobbits found this odd, but Bilbo thought of all his gifts as precious – even the smallest one. Bilbo didn't think he could stand losing the first – and only – token of friendship that Bofur had ever given him. He and Bofur had become close friends over the course of the journey, bonding over their common interests in smoking, whittling and telling rude stories. (Bofur had almost had a heart attack the first time Bilbo told him 'Old Mother Proudfoot's Bodice of Lard'.)

Bombur noticed Bilbo's distress at losing his handkerchief and frowned. He gave a thoughtful hum and handed Bilbo the spoon to stir the stew with. Bilbo still had one hand over his nose, but he dutifully stirred the spoon with the other hand, whilst trying to mentally re-trace his steps to think where he could have lost it. The problem was that they did so much traveling in a day, he could have lost it almost anywhere.

"Here." Bombur had returned from going to inspect his pack across the clearing – and he was holding out Bilbo's handkerchief! Bilbo cried out in relief, trading the wooden spoon for the piece of cloth. He wiped his nose and smiled up at Bombur gratefully.

"Wherever did you find it?" He asked the dwarf. A guilty look crossed Bombur's face.

"It does not matter. It is returned now." He said, turning back to the pot of stew. Bilbo frowned, confused. Why was Bombur refusing to tell Bilbo where he had dropped his handkerchief? Bombur was a little shy, certainly, but Bilbo was just curious as to where he could have found it!

"Come now, Bombur." Bilbo insisted. "Where did you find it? Did I drop it by Bofur's pack when I was borrowing some of his pipeweed earlier?"

Bombur was quiet for a moment, still stirring the stew. He added some herbs from a pouch on his belt and continued stirring. Eventually, just when Bilbo was sure he would get no answer from the chef, he spoke.

"Do you know what Nori does for a living, Bilbo?" Bombur asked the (admittedly confused) Hobbit. Bilbo thought about it. He had spoken a little with Nori's brother Ori, but the two older brothers were far more private than the young dwarf.

"Well Ori is a scribe, and Dori is a tailor...so is Nori perhaps a tailor too?" Bilbo guessed, hoping that Bombur's purpose would become clear if he went along with the dwarf's bizarre question.

"No." Bombur said flatly. "He's a professional thief."

Bilbo started. A professional thief? Surely not. Thorin definitely would not allow a professional thief to come on his epic quest to reclaim his kingdom, would he?

"A-a thief?" Bilbo squeaked. "But- but- but- how did he- Thorin must – wait, why do you need a burglar if you have a professional thief?"

"Nori steals trinkets, Bilbo. Not ancient Dwarvish treasures." Bombur explained, as if it were obvious.

_I don't normally steal those either!_ Bilbo thought bitterly.

"But how do you know this? Has he not been caught?"

"No, not to my knowledge. He certainly hasn't been caught thus far on the journey." Bombur murmured. Bilbo gaped.

"Are you saying," Bilbo whispered, leaning in closer to Bombur. "That Nori _stole_ my handkerchief?"

Bombur shuffled awkwardly, glanced around and leaned down to murmur his reply quietly to Bilbo so no one else would hear.

"Nori's been stealing things from everyone and putting them in my pack." Bombur revealed. "At first I thought that he was trying to use me as a scapegoat, but when I confronted him about it, he got all flustered and mumbled a lot. He said that he was just trying to give me all the nice things I deserved. I- I think he's trying to court me, Mister Baggins." Bombur trailed off, and Bilbo was struck with how young Bombur sounded, despite the fact that he had been told Bombur was nearly 150 years old.

"Court you?" Bilbo clutched his handkerchief to his chest. "Well, uh, I suppose that, um, although Nori's methods may be a little... unorthodox, it's the thought that counts, is it not?"  
Bombur grimaced. "He thinks I'm his One, Mister Baggins." Bilbo stared at him, waiting for the quiet dwarf to finish his statement.

"His one... what?" Bilbo asked hesitantly. His one true love? But that sort of thing was just children's stories, surely. Nori didn't seem the sort to believe in fairytales. Bilbo didn't even know if dwarves had fairytales. Bombur gave him an odd look.

"Huh. I thought Bofur would have told you." Bombur gave his head a little shake and turned back to his stew. "When Aulë created dwarves, he made different types: men that love women; men that love men; women, obviously; and then men that don't feel love for any dwarves at all, but who would rather immerse themselves in their craft. There aren't many Dwarvish women, Mister Baggins, but the ones we do have are usually very spoiled by their families. But, because we have a shortage of women, they are expected to have at least one child – by their One or otherwise."

Bilbo tried to interrupt and ask what exactly a 'One' was, but Bombur ignored him and continued his speech.

"Dwarves truly love only once, Mister Baggins. Hence we call them our 'One'. If Nori believes me to be his One, then for him I probably am. But the thing is, I come into the last category – I will only ever truly love my work. I want to mine and cook and work for the rest of my life. And I..." He sighed. "I just don't know what to say to Nori."

Bilbo realised he was gaping. He shook himself, realising that Bombur was looking for a reply.

"So dwarves," Bilbo said slowly, still frowning confusedly at Bombur, "have soulmates, but their soulmate may not feel the same way or even feel any attraction to other Dwarves at all. Nori is a professional thief – who has been stealing things for you for most of the quest – and he believes that you are his soulmate, but you don't feel any desire to settle down with anyone."

Bombur glanced at the hobbit out the corner of his eye. "Aye. Although I've never heard the term 'soulmate' before. Is that the hobbit equivalent?"

"I- I don't think that hobbits have an equivalent." Bilbo's voice trembled as he tried to process this new information. Bilbo had certainly been on the heartbroken end of unrequited love before – he had thought about settling down with several other hobbits but he had always cared more about them than they had about him, and Bilbo had been given the 'it's-not-you-it's-me' speech several times.

But to only truly love once and be in that situation! Poor Nori, loving someone who couldn't fathom loving him back. And poor Bombur, having someone ask him for something so important that he could never give. And from the way Bombur was talking about it, their situation wasn't an unusual one. To have the fate of your heart decided purely by chance… It was enough to drive a hobbit to tears!

"Oh! What's wrong?" Bombur whispered quickly, hovering awkwardly near the sniffling hobbit, wringing his spoon between his hands.

"I'm sorry." Bilbo murmured, rubbing his eyes. "It's just- oh! I don't know! Do some soulmates find happiness? Are there any happy stories?"

"Uhm..." Bombur continued fiddling with his spoon, his eyes searching the circular clearing of trees desperately. "Uh... Dwalin!" He cried, finally.

Bilbo wiped his nose and looked questioningly up at Bombur. The dwarf gulped and took a deep breath.

"Dwalin and his One were separated when they were young. She married another – not because she lacked any love for him, but because it was asked of her-"

"How is that happy?" Bilbo wailed.

"It's a little sad in the beginning, but bear with me, Mister Baggins." Bombur protested, continuing with his story.

"Dwalin's beloved is the Princess Dis – Thorin's sister – and when her father asked her to marry the son of a great lord, she could not refuse. If Dwalin had raised a protest, then the lord's son would not have been allowed to marry the Princess and Dwalin would have married her in his stead, but the aid the lord offered would have been removed. This was back when Durin's folk were still wandering lost and homeless through the lands of Middle Earth, so we really needed the help. Do you see that gold coin Dwalin is holding?"

Bilbo looked over at the warrior, and saw him gently rubbing a golden coin on a leather thong between thumb and forefinger. The warrior was looking contemplatively into the dark trees and seemed oblivious to the merriment of the rest of the camp. Bilbo looked back at Bombur and nodded.

"Well, the rumour is that he was going to give it to his lover as a proposal gift, but since she was already married it was rendered useless. Dwarves cannot marry more than once, so he missed his chance when he was young, but he still carries that coin around everywhere he goes." Bilbo felt his heart sink again. He could really empathise with Dwalin. Bilbo had bought a wedding band for a young lass many years ago – a wedding band that was still in a drawer in Bag End, and not around the hobbit lass' beautiful finger. Bombur waved his hands quickly to assuage the sadness that Bilbo could feel creeping across his face.

"But! The Princess has had her children – she has Fili and Kili – so she has no more duties to perform, and, she, um, she certainly reciprocates his feelings. She's always cooking dinner for him, and she sometimes braids his hair, and once she thought he had been injured in a bar fight and she broke his attacker's arm in five places!" Bombur babbled, his spoon making complicated overlapping shapes in the air as he waved it around. Bilbo gave Bombur a tentative smile for his efforts.

"So... they are lovers without being married?" Bilbo asked, curiously. Lovers out of wedlock – how scandalous! Bilbo was unusual in the Shire because he had not married his first lover. Hobbits could marry their lover regardless of gender, but the important part was that they were married.

"They, uh, well they aren't together as of yet, but perhaps when Erebor is reclaimed – with one fourteenth of the treasure Dwalin will be easily the same status as she is." Bombur said, trying to return the smile.

Bilbo thought about it. It seemed odd to Bilbo that Dwalin would have a lover for so long and not marry her. Hobbits usually married fairly quickly, but perhaps dwarves did not. But if she was a Princess, and Dwalin married her, it might seem as though Dwalin was just using her for her status or her wealth. After the quest, Dwalin would have one fourteenth of the treasure like the rest of the company, and the two would be equals. And there would be no pressure for the two of them to have children because-

"Did you just say that Kili and Fili were Thorin's nephews?" Bilbo squeaked.

Dori knew.

After the very dramatic and daring rescue by Mister Gandalf's eagles, and when Thorin was done having his moment with the Burglar, the reality of their situation began to dawn on everyone. Thorin collapsed from his injuries, Bilbo's knees buckled and Fili began fussing over Kili's cracked ribs (completely ignoring his own slashed arm). The only real healers in the company were Oin, Balin and Mister Gandalf, so Dori found himself sitting on a small boulder and shoving Mister Dwalin onto the ground in front of him to tend to the stoic warrior.

Dwalin had received an arrow to the shoulder, so Dori's first task was to twist and tweak the barbed Orcish arrow out of the dwarf's shoulder. His brothers were curled up behind him – Ori huddled into a little ball, sniffling, and Nori shivering in a way that seriously worried Dori. Poor Nori had to watch as his brothers hung from a wizard's staff over the edge of a cliff, and he wasn't particularly good at understanding his emotions at the best of times, so Dori's thieving little brother must have been feeling so frustrated and powerless just then.

"Sit _still_, Mister Dwalin!" Dori admonished his patient as he shifted on the ground. "And _please_ try to relax your shoulder – it will make removing this arrow so much easier!"

Dwalin grunted, but his shoulders did relax, making Dori's task much easier. Dori was certainly not a healer, but he had a little experience doing delicate work from when his partner in Ered Luin had shown him how to mend watches.

Dori missed Gunnar terribly, but coming on the quest had been the right thing to do, and Gunnar would not have approved. Dori's partner was loyal enough to the line of Durin, but Dori was far closer to their exiled royalty because of Ori's (bizarre) friendship with the Sons of Dis. He had made his decision to go on the quest months before he actually left, but he had not mentioned the quest at all to his significant other. The morning he and his brothers had left for the Shire, Dori had left a sealed envelope explaining where he had gone and why on the pillow next to his sleeping lover. His heart ached more and more with every step that took him further from Gunnar. He was determined not to think about what that meant until they had re-claimed Erebor.

"Why you ran in so recklessly after those boys I'll never know." Dori grumbled, as he finally managed to work the Orcish arrow free from Dwalin's shoulder. "Usually you're so controlled in battle."

Without waiting for a reply, Dori strode over to Oin's medical box and fished out some bandages, a cloth, water and salve. He was acutely aware of Nori's eyes boring into him from across the rocky plateau they had been dropped on, and once again allowed himself to worry about his usually anti-social brother.

"I had to protect them." Dwalin murmured when Dori sat back down behind him. Nori wrapped an arm around Dori's waist as soon as Dori was within grabbing distance, so it was a good thing that Dori had collected all the supplies he would need when he had visited Oin's box. It wasn't likely that Nori would let go any time soon – he rarely let go of things he wanted.

"Who? Thorin? The boys?" Dori asked as he wiped the blood (and most likely poison) out of Dwalin's wound. "They can care of themselves well enough. You taught those boys to fight, and you spent so much time sparring with Thorin as a child you may as well have taught him too. What good does getting yourself injured do them now?"

"I-" Dwalin hissed as Dori massaged the fragrant green salve into his shoulder. It would ease the pain and help speed up the healing process. "I promised her, Dori. I swore an oath to bring them home."

"Hmm." Dori knew all about that oath – Nori had whispered it to him one night; not long after admitting he had (supposedly) found his One. "So I have heard."

"I cannot let them die, Dori. Their safety must come first." Dwalin insisted. Dori wiped his hands to clean any remaining salve from them (lest his fingers go numb) and picked up the bandages in his lap.

"That as may be," Dori said softly, thinking of an unopened envelope lying next to a mane of white hair. "How do you suppose she would feel if her kin were returned to her but you were not?"  
Dwalin did not reply and Dori finished bandaging his shoulder in silence. As he tied off the end, Dwalin made to stand up and Dori caught his wrist.

"If you would be so kind as to return these items to Oin's care, Mister Dwalin." Dori said quietly. "I do not believe my brother is inclined to release me at the moment." He gestured to where Nori still had an arm looped around his waist.

Dwalin nodded in understanding and took the supplies from Dori's hands. He took a few steps towards the rest of the camp, then turned back with a curious look on his face.

"How did you break the news to your lover that you were leaving on this quest?" He asked suddenly. Dori started – he had not expected anyone to be so forward about it. He pondered the question for a moment, and decided that honesty was the best policy.

"I told him that it was something that I must do – for my family. I told him that I would wait for him always, but that I would not expect him to wait for me. Things were still so uncertain when I left..." Dori blushed a little. "And I told him that when we reclaimed Erebor I would be rich and that I would marry him, if he did decide I was his One. If he still desired to marry me after I had abandoned him for so long with so little warning, of course."

Dwalin stared at him for a while, then gave a short nod, said goodnight and left. Dori released a breath and turned around to face his brothers. Ori was already asleep, but Nori was still shaking quite violently so Dori stroked his hair and hummed Nori's favourite lullaby from when he was a child. Nori was not the best at recognising or interpreting emotions, but Dori was sure his attempts at brotherly affection were felt, and he knew that Nori definitely felt strongly about Bombur. Very strongly.

With the hand not stroking his brother's hair, he reached into his jacket pocket and ran his fingers over the engraved pocket-watch he had managed to keep hidden for the whole journey so far (no easy feat with Nori around). It had been a proposal gift from Gunnar, and Dori wished that Dwalin had been given the chance to present his gold coin to his beloved.

Gandalf knew.

Gandalf was old. Nowhere near the oldest of his order, and certainly not the wisest, but very old by the standards of the land he was in now. He had lived in another land before this one, with his many cousins and siblings, learning all that they could about anything they could. Gandalf had gone by a different name then, and he was vehemently against leaving his home when he was first asked. But having been in this land for countless years, he was infinitely glad that he had been forced to come here.

Gandalf delighted in each new species, was in awe at each new culture. His old, foolish mind soaked up each new myth and saga – they were his favourite part of meeting new peoples. Especially the romantic tales. Gandalf had a guilty fondness for sitting quietly with a full pipe listening to a romantic fable. Saruman would not approve. Yet Gandalf could not help himself. Upon his first meeting with the Lady Galadriel, the two of them had sat for hours and hours as she had relayed to him story after story of her ancestors.

Dwarves, Gandalf had found, were a very patient and loving race. They had just as many – if not more – love stories as elves, and their tragic romances were some of the more heart-wrenching tales he had ever heard. Mostly they centred around a dwarf finding their One, and then either devoting themselves to said One completely, or discovering said One was dead or unable to love them back. Gandalf's old foreign eyes could see these connections, so he was one of the few members of the company not surprised when Bombur returned Nori's proposal gift.

Nori had clearly been pining after Bombur for weeks. Gandalf had known about their tragic situation immediately - and wasn't it awful that he had to watch the two crash and splinter right in front of him? He could see the thin thread that appeared out of the cloth of Nori's jumper and snaked its way over to hover around Bombur's chest – but never to touch it, because the shimmering silver and gold thread that emerged from Bombur's chest was knotted and plaited and twisted around his torso like a belt.

Nori's intention had been getting slowly more and more obvious as the quest went on. It had begun as a few small items stolen from generally understanding members of the company. It had progressed through larger and larger items, interesting pebbles, weapons and had even gone so far as Nori stealing Gloin's soup bowl in order to give it to Bombur. Bombur had dealt with all this in as neutral a manner as possible, returning the stolen items and giving Gloin his own bowl as an apology. But the incident that had driven Bombur over the edge was when Nori stole the small gold coin on a leather thong from around Dwalin's neck.

Dwalin had gone into a panic when he had woken up to find it missing. He had torn up the camp trying to find it, and when he began to shout and demand that everyone else look for it, Bombur had paled and looked nauseous.

Finding the coin in Bombur's pack had been awful. Everyone had frozen stock-still and Bombur had looked at the stolen coin in horror. Then the coin had glinted in the light and Dwalin had tried to launch himself at Nori. He was only stopped by Fili and Kili grabbing his arms and physically holding him back.  
Nori had looked smug at first, grinning over at Dwalin struggling in the Prince's arms. Then Bombur had strode over to him and shook the coin in his face.

"This," Bombur had yelled, "is not okay!" Nori frowned and tried to interrupt, but Bombur swept the offending item in a violent arc an inch from the thief's face. "There is no excuse for this. Nothing you say can fix this. I cannot love you. There is no version of events that can make me feel the way you feel about me. And I am sorry, but it's the truth."

Silence reigned supreme, and Nori looked as though he had just been told the world had stopped turning. Bombur saw the look of horror on the thief's face and continued to heave fresh air into his lungs. He seemed to realise exactly what he had said, and his face softened, begging Nori to understand.

"I am sorry, but it's the truth." He repeated quietly.

That seemed to be the final straw for Nori. He sprang up and ran off into the forest. Dori called his brother's name and raced after him immediately. Ori turned to apologize profusely to the company at large before turning and crying out his wayward brother's name as he followed the rest of his family into the darkened trees.

Bombur stared after the small family, looking devastated. Dwalin had calmed down a little, and shrugged off Fili and Kili's restraining grip. He marched up to the overweight chef, and wordlessly held out his hand. Bombur gently laid the coin into Dwalin's waiting palm, and then walked on wobbly legs to a flat boulder on the other side of the clearing. His own brother and cousin came and crouched beside him, murmuring quietly to him in Khuzdul.

Gandalf heard a sniffle and a quiet hiccup. He looked down to his left, where Bilbo Baggins (his wonderful, brave, magnificent little hobbit, who had put up with so much and who had asked for so little in return) was stifling his sobs in his handkerchief as tears streamed down his face. Gandalf's heart constricted – moments like these were not easy on anyone, especially those who had been involved in similar moments themselves. Thorin Oakenshield was looking a little lost and confused, so Gandalf decided to offer a little friendly advice in the hopes that the infuriating King would take it this time.

"Perhaps," Gandalf began, in order to get the attention of the remaining dwarves and Bilbo. Thorin looked up at him with wide, confused eyes – of course he would not have noticed Nori's attempts at courtship. "It would be best if the two of you were to convince Dwalin not to abandon the quest?" He suggested to Balin and Thorin, who both immediately dashed over to where Dwalin was throwing all his belongings into his pack. Gandalf turned to Oin and Gloin. "And perhaps the two of you could take the next watch?" The brothers looked at one another and left for the look-out post.

"What about us, Mister Gandalf?" Kili asked innocently – sometimes Gandalf forgot just how young the company's two scouts were. "What can we do to help?"

"Hmm," Gandalf lowered himself onto a log near the burnt out campfire, and tapped his staff in the embers once to re-kindle the blaze. "Perhaps the two of you could assist Bilbo and me in finishing off this pipeweed? I think that we could all do with some just now."

Bilbo sobbed a little, but nodded and pulled his pipe from the inside pocket of his waistcoat. Kili looked as though he was going to protest about being given such a 'useless' task, but his brother elbowed him sharply in the ribs, and (after a brief silent conversation that involved a lot of staring and head shaking) the two of them dropped to the ground and filled their pipes too.

For a few moments the only sounds were the murmurs of Thorin and Balin to Dwalin, and the murmurs of Bofur and Bifur to Bombur. But Kili and Fili were very young, and their youth meant that they were unable to sit still for any extended period of time. The two of them began by fidgeting on the spot and then held an urgent whispered conversation.

"Do you think that it's possible for Mister Dwalin and Mother to be together someday, Mister Gandalf?" Fili asked suddenly (just quietly enough that said prospective step-father would not hear them as he sat dejectedly on his half-full pack). Gandalf slowly released his lungful of pipeweed, waiting until he had the full attention of the young dwarfs and the (slightly calmer) hobbit.

"No one may know the future, Master Dwarf. However, what I can say for certain is that I believe there are infinite possibilities involved in every person's decisions. I know that this may not be the answer that you are looking for, but please try to imagine: infinite different circumstances that could lead your Mother to finally follow her heart." He took another quick puff of his pipe and continued. "But, having said that, I sincerely believe that the completion of this quest will lead to only good things for all."

The beaming smiles he got from the young Princes made all the aches and pains Gandalf had acquired on this quest worth it. These young things still had hope for the future, and just by being around them, Gandalf felt a similar hope blossom in his old romantic heart. Perhaps his words may even prove true. Looking again at Fili and Kili's hopeful smiles, Gandalf believed that everything would turn out all right in the end.

Balin knew.

Balin and the other dwarves who had been named the Elder Council stood in a semi-circle in front of the enormous stone doors. Balin let his tired eyes skim over the intricate carvings of trees and heroes and mines that decorated the most regal entrance to Erebor. It was beautiful. Balin had forgotten just how beautiful. At least now he would have some time to appreciate the true beauty of his home. How many times had he casually run past these doors in his youth? How many times had he chased Dwalin and Thorin out through these ancient halls and out into the sunlight?

He sighed and shifted more of his weight onto the cane in his left hand. He had taken an arrow to the thigh in the midst of battle, and Oin was fairly sure that the wound would never fully heal because Balin's body was simply too old and tired to repair it.

The doors rumbled and groaned as they slowly swung open on ancient hinges – Balin noted that someone would need to look at those, to see if they could be repaired – and Ori jogged inside. The lad looked awful. His braids were either too loose or knotted messily, he had a large bruise on one cheek, and his eyes were rimmed with red.

"They're nearly here." He said quietly, his voice croaky from disuse. Balin nodded and patted Ori's shoulder with his free hand.

"Thank you, lad." Balin said kindly, giving Ori a tired smile. "You should go and see to your brother. I think he and Bombur are trying to sort through the South-Western Treasure room."

Ori nodded and scurried off. He always seemed to be hurrying these days – although in this case it was probably justified. Nori and Bombur had called a tentative truce in the aftermath of the battle. It was thought that they should show unity amongst the original members of the company. However, Nori occasionally still had moments when he let the strength of his feelings get the better of him, and said something inappropriate.

Balin hoped that he would not have to wait much longer, as his leg was beginning to ache and he was getting anxious about greeting this party. He glanced over as his brother came to stand beside him, dressed as formally as possible with so few of his possessions here. Balin also noted that he had a sword sheathed in his belt. He made no comment about his brother's presence, despite Dwalin technically not being a member of the Elder Council. No one would question his motives for being here – not if they knew who was arriving.

Other young dwarves had come to finish pulling open the gates. Balin smoothed his beard as the first few guards marched into view. They had been Dain's guards, but he had generously sent them to escort the last of the royal line back to Erebor.

Balin's Princess burst through the doors with virtually no warning, her stout legs carrying her far ahead of her supposed escort. Her thick black hair and beard were flying behind her and her blue traveling cloak rippled like the sea in a storm. She had eyes only for Balin and his brother beside him, but did not slow her stride.

"Take me to them, Balin." She demanded, and Balin limped as fast as he could after her. "Take me to them now. The rest of you can stay here." She barely even glanced at the rest of the Elder Council, but when Dwalin made no move to follow them she snapped her fingers impatiently behind her and said: "Not you – you follow me."

Balin lead her – as much as he could whilst struggling to keep up with her powerful strides – towards what was once the throne room. Dain had not yet taken the title of King Under the Mountain. It would not be proper whilst the previous King still remained unburied. Balin led her to the edge of the high promenade that stretched out towards the throne where her forefathers had ruled from for centuries. Dis could not claim the throne because there was no title of 'Queen Under the Mountain', so the throne went to her nearest relative – Dain Ironfoot.

Balin gestured for the Princess to follow him through a small archway to the left. She slowed as she followed him down the thin tunnel, purely because there was only room for the group to walk single file. Dwalin brought up the rear, his face tense and his sword occasionally scraping against the tunnel wall.

After many twists and turns, and many small caverns branching off the either side, the tunnel finally opened out into their destination. The cave was a fairly small and circular one, that reached up like a column into the darkness – Balin was not sure how high it went, but he thought he could hear the rumbling of a distant wind from the Mountain's peak. There was a two-tiered, raised dais opposite the tunnel's exit. Dis glided forward silently until she was standing less than five feet from the dais.

On the top tier was a single altar, upon which lay the previous King Under the Mountain, Thorin Oakenshield. On the lower tier there were two altars, where lay the Sons of Dis: Fili and Kili, side by side. Dis took a deep shuddering breath and gazed upon what little remained of her family.

Balin and Oin had done their best to clean and embalm their deceased comrades, but they had very few resources. Balin could still see the places were Orcish arrows had pierced Kili's fair face. He could still see where he had attempted to repair Fili's neck after he had been mauled by a Warg. And he could definitely see the enormous laceration that stretched from Thorin's right temple to his left jawline – Azog's final spiteful act.  
Balin wished he could have done something to ease this blow for Dis, but he had already done everything within his power. He and Dwalin stood on either side of the Princess as she looked silently upon her brother and sons.

The bodies had been dressed in some of the finery that had been found preserved in one of the royal suites. They had dressed Thorin in blue (his favourite colour as a child that made him look far too young to make Balin feel comfortable), Fili in red (the only colour they could find that did not clash with his hair, but that made him look excessively pale), and Kili in green (the colour of the moss he had shoved onto his face as a child to make him look as though he had a beard, a memory that had never stung before now because Kili would never have a chance to grow a proper beard).

"I never saw my grandfather buried, because his body was devoured by crows outside the gates of Moria. I never saw my father buried because he is still lost to us. I never saw Frerin buried because Thorin would not let me see his body after the battle. All I saw was their graves on the battlefield of Azanulbizar." Dis murmured, her voice echoing around the cylindrical cavern. "Now it seems that I finally get to see some of my kin buried."

"Dis," Dwalin whispered as her words faded into the distance. "Dis, I'm so sorry, my oath-"

"A curse on your oath!" Dis hissed. Dwalin flinched but persevered.

"I broke my oath. The single most important oath I have ever made... because I made it to you." He unsheathed his sword and knelt down in front of her, offering her the weapon on his upturned hands and bowing his head. "In return for my failure, I offer you my life to do with as you please."  
Balin really should have expected this from Dwalin, but all he could do now was flick his gaze from his brother to his brother's One. Dis turned slowly to look down emotionlessly at the prostrate warrior beside her. Balin felt his heart stutter. Surely she wouldn't. Surely.

She raised one arm and took the sword from the platform of his hands. Dwalin let his hands fall uselessly to his sides, his shoulders and head slumping in defeat.

"I will take your life, Dwalin son of Fundin." She said coolly, sending the sword callously clattering across the stone floor. "I will take all the years remaining to you, and I will have you by my side until one or both of us departs into the next life."

Dwalin looked up at her and opened his mouth to protest, but she cupped his face in her trembling hands. Tears began to fall from her dark eyes, and her breath shuddered in her chest.

"No." She whispered to him, to stop him saying anything to protest her judgement. "No, you will not deny me this. I have lost everything. My family, my kingdom, my sons. You will not deny me this."

Dwalin stood and held her wrists gently. "Dain will want to marry you to keep the line of Durin pure." He said softly to her.

Dain had expressed this wish to Balin, but if his brother declared Dis his One then Durin's folk would fight tooth and nail to keep them together – and Balin would lead that fight, ruined knee and all. It was not fair that while Dori and Gunnar planned their wedding, Dis and Dwalin had to overcome seemingly endless obstacles to achieve even the slightest moment of tenderness.

"Dain can melt into Stone for all I care." Dis said vehemently, looking directly into the eyes of her One. "I have given enough for my people. They will not deny me this. They will not. You will not deny me this."

"I could never deny you anything, Dis." Dwalin replied, moving forward to wrap his arms around his beloved, stroking her hair as she sobbed and wailed and mourned for her kin.

THE END

**A/N: You were warned. If it makes you feel any better, then remember that in canon, Dwalin has 10 kids and lives for way longer than he should...if that helps...**


End file.
